


when logic and proportion (have fallen sloppy dead)

by VickyVicarious



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Prompt Fic, background Captain Swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyVicarious/pseuds/VickyVicarious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma and Jefferson gradually become friends after the curse breaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when logic and proportion (have fallen sloppy dead)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Since you've mentioned loving Jefferson (I do too he needs to come back) would you consider writing a Mad Swan becoming buddies post curse fic?
> 
> A little AU, in that I’m pretending the visit to the cemetery in 3.19 was the next day after the docks scene. Otherwise this could theoretically all be canon compliant.

It starts with an accidental meeting in the grocery store, of all places. That seems about as surreal as the rest of it.

Emma is just there to pick up a gallon of milk on her way home, when she literally bumps into Jefferson going for a bottle of cream. They both freeze up for a second.

"Oh," she says. "Um. Hey."

"Sheriff," he nods, then seems to change his mind and goes for the more familiar, "Emma."

Emma hasn’t seen him since Mary Margaret kicked him out of a second-story window. He’s looking… well enough. Less insane.

"Henry said you talked to your daughter," she says, shifting the milk in her hands awkwardly. "How did that, uh, go?"

Jefferson grins suddenly, blinding and only the smallest part bitter. “She’s living with me again. Most of the time, anyway, we’ve got a kind of… arrangement with her curse parents.” He turns to face her fully, losing his awkwardness in favor of this odd kind of little smirk. Asks, “So how’s the family thing working out?”

"I - it’s fine," Emma says, startled and to be honest, a little freaked out. She remembers her final ploy to catch him off guard, the confession that hadn’t been as faked as she pretended, and - she can’t do this.

Her last encounter with Jefferson was dysfunctional and desperate on both their parts, raw enough to _ache_ and far too revealing, and she’s got enough on her plate already with Cora and Regina and Hook and now _Neal_ \- she can’t deal with Jefferson too, standing too close and staring down at her with a sort of mocking understanding in his eyes.

"You know, I should get back," Emma says, and backs away swiftly with her milk. Some part of her still doesn’t want to put her back to Jefferson; judging by his little scoff, he notices.

"Goodbye, Emma," he calls after her, and watches her all the way out of the store.

* * *

They don’t see each other for a year, until the next curse, and when they do, it’s another random encounter. But this time is different: their kids are with them.

Jefferson’s daughter is several inches taller than when Emma last saw her, and there’s something terrified in the way she’s clinging to her father’s hand as he leans down to murmur something softly into her ear.

“ _Oh_ ,” Emma breathes, horrified, and Jefferson’s head snaps up. His lips curl up into a sneer.

"Why, if it isn’t the S-"

"Henry, I’d like you to meet Jefferson," Emma blurts loudly, trying to cover up the ‘s word’ before it leaves Jefferson’s lips. She’s not sure which one it would even have been, Sheriff or Savior, but either would be equally unwelcome right now. So she forces a bright smile at the man, one which clearly conveys the threat to _shut up_. “He’s another… old friend.”

Jefferson arches an eyebrow, and his head drops forward a little. He darts a look at Henry.

"Geez, mom, I thought you said you only worked a case here once," the kid in question remarks, and Grace’s eyes widen as she too seems to realize what’s going on. "How do you know _everyone?_ ”

"Small towns," Emma laughs awkwardly, then leaves Henry to chat with (a still much too wide-eyed, obviously stunned) Grace as she drags Jefferson several feet away by his elbow.

"What’s going on?" he asks instantly, voice carrying a far too familiar edge of madness. "I thought you _broke_ the curse.”

"Someone cast another one," Emma snaps back. "Everyone was sent back to the Enchanted Forest for a year except me and Henry, and we both lost our memories. I just got mine back, he has no clue, I don’t know _why_ or _how_ you’re all back here now -“

"Regina," Jefferson snaps, voice getting louder until Emma shushes him harshly. "Regina did it -"

"It wasn’t her," Emma refutes firmly. Stirring up the town meeting is one thing (which of course he didn’t attend), but she _knows_ there’s no chance that Jefferson cast this curse and besides, he’s a loose cannon. A loose cannon who has proven himself not averse to insane violence and cunning when he thinks it might suit his purpose, and she does _not_ need him causing more chaos now by trying to get revenge on Regina. “Regina didn’t do this, trust me.”

It’s just a phrase of speech. Just a thing people say, she doesn’t mean anything special by it - but as soon as she says the words, Jefferson pauses. His entire body goes still for a moment, and then he’s leaning in way too close, invading her personal space again to meet Emma’s gaze with blazing eyes and speak in a low, miserable, aching whisper.

"I just lost _another year_ with my daughter,” he snarls, breath hot against Emma’s face, all menace and madness and grief. “So whatever’s going on - you have to figure it out. And _fix it_.”

He backs off, turning an (obviously fake) amiable grin on Henry as he says a quick goodbye, and takes Grace’s hand in his when they cross the street. The girl is Henry’s age, at the point when most kids would not appreciate that, but she just holds on to her father and leans into his side, and Emma wonders what it must be like.

Waking up pregnant is one thing, and it’s bad enough - but at least Mary Margaret has been through that before and knows what to expect. Emma can’t imagine what it must be like for a kid to wake up one morning suddenly going through puberty, voice different and body different and no memory at all of the change, of any lessons they might have learned during that time. What it must be like for a parent, any parent, to look at their child in the morning and realize that they’ve missed an entire year of development and growth and love - particularly with younger children; Alexandra would be a toddler suddenly, and Emma wonders if she’ll have retained skills like walking or talking that she’s learned in the missing time. Or maybe she’ll be a baby in her mind still, just as Grace seems to be a year younger and as scared of herself as anything else.

Emma wonders what watching that must be like for Jefferson, who was separated from his daughter for over twenty-eight years, and feels sick. Feels, too, a little honored that he seemed willing to trust her enough to back off. Feels more determined than ever to solve the mystery of who is behind this curse and then to break it and get those memories back.

"Make it work," she mutters to herself, as she and Henry continue on walking towards the diner.

* * *

Emma knocks _shave-and-a-haircut_ on the giant front door, because for some reason Jefferson doesn’t have a doorbell (stupid, for a house this size, no one will hear a knock unless they’re practically in the front room).

There’s an immediate reply: Jefferson knocks _two-bits_ back from inside before swinging the door open. He breaks out into a wide grin at the sight of her, as if there were no bad blood between them, and it throws Emma enough that she quirks her lips up back at him.

"Emma!" Jefferson says, stepping back to let her in. "Welcome. And - hmm. Captain Hook, _that’s_ interesting.”

Hook raises his eyebrows, but steps inside behind Emma. “And who might you be, mate?”

"Jefferson," their host replies, leading the way into the sitting room. For all his feigned surprise, there is a platter with three teacups sitting out on the table - he must be using his telescope again.

It should be creepy, but in fact Emma’s hopes are lifted. If Jefferson’s been keeping an eye on the town from here, he might have noticed something. And while they have a complicated past, she’s pretty certain they’re on the same side now.

Even so, she refuses when he offers her a cup of tea.

"No thanks," she says shortly, and Jefferson snickers, stepping closer (too close, as usual).

"C’mon, I haven’t done anything to it this time," he says, and takes a sip himself to prove it before proffering the teacup once again.

Hook bristles next to them. “ _This_ time?” he asks, eyeing Jefferson warily. He lifts his hook a little; Jefferson turns to face him with a sarcastic grin, tension ratcheting up between them, and Emma sighs.

"I didn’t come here to play tea party, Jefferson," she says, and brushes past both men to stand by the piano. She taps her fingers on the lid. "I’m here to ask for your help."

Jefferson’s expression turns bitter immediately. He rolls his eyes: “I told the prince often enough already, I can’t just make a new hat. _You_ should know that,” he muses, turning thoughtful as he looks Emma over, “unless you want me to help _you_ make a new one. That I can manage. We’d succeed this time, I think.”

Hook’s looking back and forth between the two of them with a confused expression, but Emma pauses at the thought. It hadn’t even occurred to her, that she might be able to make a new hat now - if she ever could have - but the prospect is promising. If they have a portal, they could send the Wicked Witch back to Oz… well, as soon as they find her.

"Not today," Emma says. "Actually, I wanted to know - do you still make those maps of Storybrooke?"

* * *

They spend a lot of time going over the map. Hook noticeably warms up to Jefferson as they argue about the accuracy of the cartography, trying to figure out likely locations for the Witch to be hiding. Jefferson doesn’t have the farmhouse on any of his maps, and he insists they were all accurate, which means the Witch’s abode is a new addition. If that’s true, there might be others - maybe they can figure out where the monkeys are hiding, and Rumplestiltskin.

Emma mostly stands back and lets the men fight things out - she doesn’t understand half of what they’re going on about with the maps, anyway. It’s why she brought Hook. Instead, she wanders about the room, and eventually up the stairs, examining the house. It’s large and lavish and incredibly lonely, and she shudders to imagine living alone here for nearly thirty years.

Almost without realizing, she finds herself meandering down the hall to the hat room. She pauses in the doorway: the sight of the table full of hat-making supplies, the top-hats lined up against the wall, the telescope aimed out the window - they’re all too familiar, bringing her back to that night of visceral fear, frustration, and weariness. It’s hard to believe she could ever willingly come back here - and in truth, she doesn’t want to. The room stinks of madness, of desperation, and Emma quickly turns to retreat back down the stairs to where Hook and Jefferson are still quietly bickering.

She sits down on the couch, ready to wait them out, but by the sounds of it they’re just going round in circles now. They actually seem to be enjoying themselves more than anything - it’s the only reason Emma doesn’t step in and bring this all to a swift conclusion; she’s too busy absently wondering how long it’s been since Jefferson had a friend.

Her thoughts get a little stuck on that.

She doesn’t know what Hook was up to in this past year, but she knows he and David were at least coming to some sort of understanding after Neverland, and they seem to get along pretty well now too. Jefferson, though - Emma thinks about it, but she honestly can’t recall ever seeing him in the presence of another _adult_ , let alone a friend. Most likely, he hasn’t had any; and while that’s no surprise really, given how crazy he was during the curse (both because he knew the truth, and because he _was_ actually still crazy), it still hurts a little to think about. Hurts somewhere deep, and Emma wonders if maybe that’s because she identifies with him a little too much.

It doesn’t make sense on paper, but in some weird way, Emma recognizes herself in Jefferson. Kind of the same way she recognizes herself in Hook, actually - there’s this little _lost_ edge to all of them, and maybe they all recognize it in one another, maybe it’s why they resonate so well.

Jefferson has been alone and going mad for much longer than Emma’s been alive; Hook drove himself crazy for revenge; and Emma - the only true friend she’s ever had disappeared when she broke the curse.

Hook leans over to scribble something onto one of the maps, and Jefferson chuckles without it sounding like a cry for help or a murder, and Emma sighs, closing her eyes and dropping her head back on the couch.

* * *

The next time she sees Jefferson, it’s because he’s sought her out. Emma isn’t expecting it at all - she was actually just getting ready for bed, alone in her room at Granny’s because Henry understandably wants to spend the night in his room at Regina’s, and Mary-Margaret and David are especially cuddly since the curse broke. Which is understandable, if they are actually literally _sharing a heart_ , but it’s getting late and Emma is too tired for that now.

She’s just… too tired.

But then there’s a knock at her door, _shave-and-a-haircut_ , and she sits up, blinking in surprise. Sure enough, when Emma opens the door it’s to Jefferson standing on the other side, grinning from ear to ear.

She can’t do much more than stare at him. He waits a moment, then snorts amusedly, taps _two-bits_ on the open door, and twists narrowly around her to get inside the room.

Slowly, Emma shuts the door. She gives herself a second before turning to face him, just holds the handle and breathes quietly. When she does turn around, Jefferson’s pulled two bottles out of the long pockets of his coat, and is holding one out to her.

"You did it!" he grins, and waggles the beer in her direction. "I brought a celebration."

Emma’s so tired that it actually takes her a little bit to realize what he’s talking about. In the meantime, he sets his bottle down on the table and pops hers open against the edge, before holding it back out to her.

Her stomach twists.

"No," Emma says, and drops her hands to her side as Jefferson only pushes the beer closer towards her. "I can’t drink that."

He pauses, arm still outstretched. Slowly, he pulls his hand back and puts the bottle to his own lips. Takes a big gulp, then swallows roughly, like someone unaccustomed to even mild alcohol. There’s a dark spark burning in his eyes.

"I opened it right in front of you," Jefferson says, and drinks again, a quick wild motion. "It’s not tea. What more do you want, Emma?"

All the honest joy in his voice from only a few moments ago has gone, replaced by a familiar dark hurting mockery. It makes Emma flinch, and she hates herself a little for that.

Hates herself a lot tonight, for other things.

"No, that’s not-" Emma sighs. Runs a hand through her hair. "I didn’t break the curse."

"Yes you did," Jefferson says blankly. He seems to have forgotten his anger (his hurt) in favor of simple bafflement. "You’re the Savior."

"Yeah, well." Emma says. "Apparently that was Regina’s job this time around."

It is a little amusing to watch Jefferson’s face scrunch up at the news, like it’s a bad taste on his tongue.  He starts to say something, stops, and drinks again, dropping the subject entirely.

Then he starts darting curious glances at Emma over the lip of his bottle, sidling a little closer, and she kind of wishes she felt threatened right now. Felt anything in particular, other than tired.

(Lonely. Let down. Useless, and an over-reacting idiot, and afraid in far too many ways.)

"You didn’t want to break the curse," Jefferson says, so close now that Emma can feel his breath on her face. She looks up and meets his eyes.

"No," she breathes, "no, of course I wanted to break the curse, I just-"

Jefferson doesn’t move at all, just keeps staring at her. She doesn’t owe him any answers.

"I just didn’t want Henry to remember," Emma confesses, words breaking in her throat, on her tongue.

For a moment, Jefferson continues to stand much too close in front of her, staring down into Emma’s eyes.

Then he steps back, one huge step, air rushing in to fill the gap left between them, and he picks up the second bottle from the table. Pops it open, and holds it out to Emma with a stiff arm.

He doesn’t move until she reaches up to take it.

* * *

(The other week at his house, Emma had fallen asleep.

She’d woken with a jerk, to Hook leaning cautiously over her, hand just touching her shoulder. Jefferson had been lurking against the piano, leaning on it. He was holding a teacup in both hands and smirking down at it, and Emma’s heart leapt.

“ _Not a drop_ ,” he mouthed silently, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

"Swan," Hook said, and Emma felt herself relaxing looking up at him. Even here, on this couch, with maps spread across the piano and Jefferson smirking down at her with tea in his hand, she felt herself _relaxing_. “You’re all right.”

She knew it was a question, but it didn’t sound like one. Didn’t feel like one, and she’d nodded.

"Yeah," she answered, looking first at Hook and then meeting Jefferson’s eyes behind him. "Yeah, I’m good.")

* * *

Emma drinks from the bottle Jefferson opens for her without hesitation.

"I didn’t want to bring Grace’s memories back the first time," he says.

"We were happy in New York," she replies. And it’s that simple.

He’s the first to understand, completely and truly, and while they _both_ know how wrong they were, it doesn’t change that he understands. Gets it, without Emma needing to justify at all.

* * *

"We were happy too," Jefferson says a while later, after they’ve both finished their beers. Emma blinks up at him and he smiles, tugging his coat back on. It’s a strangely soft expression.

She notices for the first time that his neck is exposed, scar open to the air.

"This past year," Jefferson adds after a moment, carefully tucking the empty bottles back into his two long pockets. "Grace and I."

Without intending to, Emma finds herself smiling back. “Good,” she says.

He nods goodnight and slips out the door.

* * *

It still seems a little surreal after everything ends. For now, at least - Emma knows this peace won’t last forever, she’s the Savior after all. But for once the thought’s not so bitter - in fact it’s almost _fond_. Right now, Emma’s feeling good, and not inclined to question anything.

Zelena is gone. Henry isn’t. Her parents aren’t.

 _Hook_ isn’t, and letting herself think that, with all the relief and worry in the words, is exhilarating and new still. She’s letting herself think any number of things about Killian lately. But then - it is True Love.

She giggles at the thought. (So sue her, she’s allowed to be a little giddy. It’s not like he isn’t pretty obviously giddy too.)

There’s an answering snicker at the (unlocked) door. Emma looks up, and is a little surprised that she _isn’t_ surprised to see Jefferson leaning against the jamb.

"Hello, Emma," he drawls. She refuses to blush at being caught daydreaming.

"Jefferson," she replies, hopping easily to her feet. "Be quiet, my little brother’s asleep in the next room."

(The words ‘little brother’ strain at the edges of her lips, content and proud. She hadn’t expected to feel like this.)

"That’s actually why I’m here," Jefferson says, and tugs something out of his back pocket. It’s ragged and white, and has long floppy ears.

"Are you _serious?_ " she can’t help asking.

"Trust me, they’re a hit," Jefferson says wryly, and true to form he steps way up close into Emma’s personal space to press the toy into her palm. "Figured I should pay my respects to the little prince."

She snorts a little at that (he sounds too sarcastic to believe entirely), but the rabbit is soft and worn in her hands, its fur a little felted, and Jefferson’s gaze is too intense. Emma is pretty sure she knows where this came from.

So when she says, “thank you,” as he starts to head back out the door, she means it.

Jefferson stops one step into the hallway, and leans back around to look at Emma. He keeps his feet planted, just tilts his upper body around and back, and it looks kind of ridiculous.

"If you ever want to make a hat, Savior," he grins sardonically, "you know where to find me."

Emma thinks - she might actually take him up on that, some time.


End file.
